The Seamstress
by Princess Pat
Summary: A Tale of Two Cities. Sydney Carton and the little seamstress get their chance at happiness, just as the blade is about to fall.
1. The Procession

"Stay with me," the little seamstress begged. Sydney could not help but take her in his arms. Somehow this sweet little girl had given him the strength he needed to face his death. He had found his own strength, by her asking for it.

As they went through the streets of Paris he kept a constant hold on her hands, and their eyes never left each other. _How strange_, she thought to herself_, I am on my way to my own execution, and yet I feel as happy as a bride on her way to the altar. I have never been in love before... and yet now, moments before my death, I am in love. I am truly, completely, utterly in love. All of this madness suddenly seems worthwhile, as I have found the man I was meant to love with all my heart and soul._

The cart they were on slowed and she felt her heart skip a beat. Their time was almost up. She clung closer to him and he instinctively took her in his arms. The crowds were shouting all around them and yet she did not hear them. All she could think of was this wonderful man that had magically come into her life at the very last moment.

*SWISH* *CHOP*

The awful sound of the guillotine sounded.

*SWISH* *CHOP*

She shuddered. "Do not tremble," he said - more with his eyes than his lips. He laid a comforting hand on her shoulders, and suddenly, she did not tremble. "Keep your eyes on me, only on me." Did he say those words out loud or did she just understand them? It did not seem to matter. She understood him, and he her. This should have been the most terrifying moment of her life and yet she was somehow happy.

*SWISH* *CHOP*

She turned towards the sound but he caught her arm. "Do not look away from me," he told her. "Keep your eyes on me. Only on me." She was happy to obey. How easy it was to look into his warm eyes and see the strength that she so desperately needed. His arms were strong, and his eyes were warm. He was on the way to death as well, and yet he did not seem to mind. His whole concern was with her, and making sure that she would be alright. They had only met moments ago, and yet she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was utterly, completely, and hopelessly in love with him.

*SWISH* *CHOP*

The blade fell again just as their wagon pulled to a stop.

Ever since she had been convicted she had dreaded this moment. She remembered hearing the dreadful sounds of the convicted enemies of the republic. She had long ago shed tears for the people that had lost their lives to the republic... yet she had never thought... never dreamt that those tears would have led her mistress to denounce her, and declare her an enemy of the republic. Was she wrong to have shed those tears? She sometimes wondered. Yet it was against her very nature to hear that awful sound of death and not be saddened.

This beautiful man that held her arms steady made her feel, for the first time, that it was alright. It was all alright. She felt loved... truly loved.

*SWISH* *CHOP*

She could feel herself tensing again, yet this beloved man's arms warmed her_. Oh please_, she sent up a prayer to God, _do not let us be separated for long. Please let us be together forever, and not have to suffer alone_.

"I'm not afraid of anything, while I hold your hand," she said. He smiled at her. "When I let it go, will it be quick?"

"Yes," he promised with a warmth in his eyes. He still held her fingers just as tightly.

"Evremond!" a voice shouted. A fear held her heart.

"Is it time?" she asked, still clutching his hand.

"Yes," he said calmly, almost smiling at her.

_No_, she thought to herself. _No, he cannot go first. I would be alone then, and he is my strength_.

"Would they let me go first?" she asked. He half smiled.

"Citizen, can she go first?" he asked.

The man agreed and within a moment the man with the kind eyes had her in his arms and kissed her passionately.

_He loves me_, she could tell. _He loves me as I love him_. She kissed him back with all her heart and soul, even as the guards pulled them apart. She knew they would never really be apart. His soul was with hers.

She climbed the stairs to the scaffold, and yet her eyes never left his.

He smiled at her. Yes, smiled. He was at peace, and wanted her to have peace as well. She took the last step up the scaffold, feeling his eyes, his support, and his love upon her. She did not look at the executioners, nor did she pay any mind as they told her to gather her hair up in her arms as she prepared to kneel down... all she could think of was that wonderful man with the kind eyes who gave her love - true love - when she most needed it.

The crowds were yelling all sorts of dreadful things, yet she paid no mind. She was beyond their hurts now. She laid down onto the board, and prepared to be pushed into the frame when...

*SWOOSH*

No chop.

She hadn't been pushed into the frame, so how could the blade have fallen? There was a gray smoke all around and she could not see. What had happened? She felt dazed and almost drugged... she collapsed yet she felt someone catch her. Still dizzy, she was vaguely aware of being carried away as the smoke still hid them from view.

She remembered making a desperate effort to try and see what was happening... it was the last memory she had before she fainted.


	2. Safety

The seamstress awoke in dark room. At first all she could make out were dim shapes and dull murmurings. Was she dead? She then felt a warm hand on her cheek. She was vaguely aware that there were candles over her head... slowly the room came into focus. She looked up and saw the same warm blue eyes that had guided her through that awful procession.

_Surely I must be dead_, she thought, _as he is here_.

"Are we in paradise?" she asked as he gently caressed her face. He smiled.

"Perhaps," he said with a soft smile. "Not the one you imagine though."

She blinked and slowly her eyes focused on the surroundings. It was a dark room, with no windows and several people huddled nearby.

"What has happened?"

"We have been rescued," said a brusque voice from the corner. She tried to sit up.

"Easy," the gentleman with the kind eyes said as he supported her.

"I do not understand," she said, holding her hand to her forehead.

"You fainted," said the man with the kind eyes. "The Pimpernel caught you. He rescued all of us," he said, gesturing to the room with his free hand. "We are safe."

"You mean..." she could not quite accept it, "you mean we are alive... we will live?" the question sounded simple, but she could not help it.

The man with the kind eyes laughed. "Yes, my dear little seamstress, we are alive. And with the help of the Pimpernel and his friends, I am certain that we all shall live."

"I do not believe it," she whispered.

"No, Missee, none of us do," said the gruff voice. "But rescued we all were. And me all set to have that close shave too." Some of the others couldn't help a little giggle at that. All she could do was turn back to the man that still held her in his arms.

"How long have we been here?" she asked.

"Not long," he answered. "About an hour."

"But how did we get here?" she asked, her hand rubbing her temple.

"In the smoke and confusion I found you – the Pimpernel had caught you, and he and I carried you together to the wagons he had waiting."

"Everyone was running away from the bloody axe, and this fella of yours was the only one stupid enough to be running towards it!" a woman laughed. The seamstress smiled.

"You found me?"

"Never let you out of his sight for a moment, he did."

"I told you I would not leave you," he said, stroking her chin. She threw her arms around his neck and couldn't keep from crying. He gently rocked her as she tried to come to terms with all that had happened so quickly. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and kissed her forehead.

The seamstress wasn't sure how long they were in that room. She drifted in and out of sleep while they waited. The man held her in his arms, unwilling to let her go for a moment. Finally he shifted and she awoke to find masked men entering the room. The Pimpernel, she realized.

"We are moving you tonight, citizens. Be ready to go quickly and as silently as possible when the word comes. There is a wagon of coffins – we will quickly load you into the bottom of the wagon – two by two, and then place the coffins above you. It is imperative that you remain absolutely silent once you are in the wagon. I hope some of you have rested, as there will be no rest at all until we are out of the city. Once we have cleared the city we shall go straight to Calais where a ship is waiting, for England and a new life."

"Thank you," one of the women said quickly.

"It is an honor to serve you, citizeness," the man bowed, then left. Everyone in the room looked at each other. The seamstress counted eight people including herself and her protector. It was a great risk these men were taking on, trying to save all of them when they had no idea who they were.

"This is probably due to you, Monsieur," said the gruff voiced man. He nodded at the man with the kind eyes. "The name of Evrémonde inspires protectors."

"I wish I could take the credit for this," her friend replied, "but I cannot. I have no powerful friends in England."

"You must have had some protection. I hardly think the Pimpernel would go out of his way to protect a baker like me," said the gruff voiced man.

"The Pimpernel is non-discriminatory," her friend answered with a bit of a smile. He met the seamstress's eyes and kissed her forehead.

"Thank you for looking after me," she whispered. "I wish there was something I could do," it sounded so small, but she meant it.

"Tell me your name," he said simply.

"My name is Annette."

"Annette," he smiled. "I am Sydney Carton."


	3. On the Road

Just as the Pimpernel had told them they were soon smuggled into a cart. Annette was loaded into a tiny compartment where she could barely breathe. Only the hand of her protector, this Sydney Carton, kept her at ease as the coffins were loaded on top of them. Were they filled with bodies? She tried not to think of that. She clutched Sydney's hand tightly as the cart slowly made its way through the streets of Paris.

After about half an hour she felt the wagon slow, then stop, and she knew they must be at the city gates. Everyone in the cart held their breaths as the soldiers asked questions. She felt certain that the beating of her heart would give them away, but just as she was about to cry out in panic she felt Sydney's comforting arms about her. He had moved silently, but just enough to give her the reassurance she needed. She relaxed into his embrace as the soldiers continued to circle their disguised caravan.

She heard the soldiers make a crude joke about the guillotine and she heard one of the women at the front of the cart whimper. She said a silent prayer that the woman was not overheard, and it seemed to be answered, as only a few minutes later the wagon started moving again. Annette let out the breath she had been holding and the others lying nearby seemed to relax as well. Two minutes later she heard a loud snore emerge – which could only originate from the baker – and she and everyone around her started to chuckle with relief. Thank God he hadn't done that while the wagon was being inspected!

About an hour after they had left the gates of Paris the carts stopped again. The coffins were unloaded and all of the people were unloaded from the cart. For the first time in months, Annette breathed in the scent of freedom. She stood up and looked at the stars, as she took in the early night air. She was then quickly helped out of the cart by one of the Pimpernel's men, and all of them were ushered towards two waiting carriages. The men were shown to one carriage, the women to another. Annette felt her heart stop again, and she began to panic at the thought of being separated from her protector. Before she could think of any words to say, he spoke for her.

"Citizen, would you mind if we stayed together?" Sydney asked one of the men in black.

"What's that?" the man answered, surprised at having his plans questioned.

"You see, I have looked after her this long, I would prefer to look after her the rest of the way," he explained, still holding her arm.

"Yes, alright," the man nodded. "Be quick about it."

She was ushered towards the carriage with the other men, and the baker was taken to her place in the women's carriage. "Thank you," she said to her protector.

"Sshhh, there is no need," he responded as the final man stepped in. Annette smiled in the fading light. She couldn't bear the thought of being separated from this man, and he had understood it. He had answered her thoughts before she had voiced them.

The moment the door was closed the Pimpernel – well, she assumed it was the Pimpernel – came to address them.

"These carriages will conduct you directly to Calais. There is a ship waiting there to take you across the channel. I wish you luck, citizens. Citizeness," he bowed towards Annette.

"Are you not coming with us, sir?" asked one of the men.

"I fear there is still more work for me to do here, citizen. But I wish you all the best of luck. And God's speed." He didn't wait for their reply, instead he tapped the side of the carriage and it departed.

As the carriage took off Annette still clung to her friend's hand. They did not speak, there was no need to speak. The events of the day swam in her head. "Try to sleep, if you can, Missee," said one of the other men. "It's a long trip to Calais."

The coast, she thought. She had never seen the coast. She had never even been outside of the city since she was a little girl… but she tried to obey. Her friend wrapped his arm around her and she settled into an uneasy sleep.

She dreamt steadily through the night. She awoke several times from her nightmares as she dreamt of La Force, the guillotine, blood in the streets, and the mob – that deafening mob. She knew she shook several times from her dreams, but each time she woke up she found herself still in the carriage, and still in the arms of the man she had fallen so desperately in love with just hours ago. She had worried that her constant dreams would disturb him, yet they didn't seem to. He looked as though he was in the midst of the most restful sleep he'd had in his entire life.


	4. Set Sail

Annette awoke as the early morning sunlight shone through the windows of the carriage. The light glimmered through the glass, casting strange shapes upon the walls. Annette looked through the windows in fascination, even as the others still slept. Her friend woke soon after her and smiled as he saw her glued to the window. "Is that the seaside?" she asked, happily.

"That it is," he answered with a smile. "Have you never seen it?"

"Never," she said, knowing her ignorance was showing but not really caring. Her companion stretched and then leaned towards the window with her.

"It looks as if we're almost at the harbor," he observed. "One of those ships yonder must be for us."

"Is it possible? England? And a new life?" she was amazed at the changes that were suddenly before her.

"It is possible, my little Annette," he said, wrapping an arm around her. "A new life for both of us," he kissed her cheek. She felt her heart flutter. She was both scared and content at the same time. And happy. So very happy. It didn't seem right that her life had taken such amazing turns so quickly, it would take awhile for her to come to terms with everything. Still, she thought as she relaxed into her friend's arms, she couldn't be happier.

* * *

The carriage soon came to a stop in front of a large ship. The small group was gently awakened, and then ushered onboard. Annette held hands with her protector all the way. They stayed together as they left the carriage, walked the way to the ship, and climbed on board. It was only when they where shown to different quarters did they finally have to part. Annette still didn't like being parted from her friend for even a moment, but he smiled and kissed her hand.

"I won't be far," he promised, more by his eyes than his lips. It didn't matter, Annette understood. He stepped towards her and kissed her deeply before allowing themselves to be parted. She kissed him back, and then he nodded for her to go on.

Annette was shown into a small room with four bunks. The three other women that had been saved with her soon followed. The women chattered for awhile, mostly talking about how little they had all slept in the carriages and how mysterious the Pimpernel had been. After minimal conversation, they all crept quickly to their respective beds, as no one had experienced a particularly restful night previously.

Annette laid down and tried to rest, but for the most part she couldn't stop thinking of her friend. Her love. He had said his name was Sydney Carton. Sydney Carton. She repeated the name in her head over and over as the boat settled in the water. Sydney Carton. A fine name. An English name. He was returning to his own country today, she thought. Yet he had said this would be the beginning of a new life for him as well as her. She pondered over this as she gradually drifted into a restful sleep.

* * *

The ship rocked and Annette found herself once again on deck. She leaned against the rail and watched the sunrise appear over the bow. "Another early riser," a familiar voice observed. She turned around and found Sydney walking towards her.

"I am not used to sleeping in," she answered. "I would have to be at my work as early as possible." He nodded. "Did you usually get up early too?" she asked.

"Not generally," he confessed. "I used to sleep in the mornings as long as I could... but now..."

"I understand," she said, taking his hands. "Every single moment that we can be awake is a gift." He nodded.

"You understand perfectly." He smiled and put his arm about her waist.

"Tell me about England," she prompted. "What is London like? Are the people there much like you?"

She felt him chuckle and she knew her innocence was showing. "God forbid," he smiled. "No, my dear, the people of London are much like people everywhere else. Some are good, some are not."

"Are they kind to foreigners?"

"Some are, some are not," he answered honestly. "But, I think you will find that most people disagree with the direction the revolution took in France and have sympathy for those who have lost so much."

"I do not feel that I have lost much," she said, thoughtfully looking out at the water. "France is no longer the place I grew up in. My little store, I took such great pride in... I worked so hard there, but it is no longer where I belong. My life there is over."

"And now you have a new life beginning," he observed. He looked out at the water with a sort of peaceful contentment.

She wished she could have his same calm attitude, but she did not. Instead, she tried not to look as frightened as she felt. It didn't work, her companion could tell.

"What is it?" he asked, placing a comforting hand upon her arm.

"I should be so scared - a new country - a new language to learn…" she confessed. "I should be so frightened. Would you... would you stay with me? And help me?" for a moment she felt exactly the same as she had two days ago when she had first met him – when she hand first turned to him for strength. When she thought she was about to die, he was the one that had given her the strength to live. Still, she needed him. She didn't mind confessing it to him.

He smiled again. He turned and took her hands. "Of course I will, Annette. You will always have me."

She felt a huge surge of relief wash over her. "I'm not afraid of anything if you are with me," she said honestly.

"I spoke to the captain," he said, nodding to the front of the ship. She looked at him in confusion. "He informs me that he is unable to perform marriage ceremonies in these waters, so I suppose we shall have to wait until we arrive in England."

She stared at him in confusion.

He laughed, "My dear little seamstress, can you not see that I am in love with you? I am asking you to be my wife."


	5. An Answer

Her face went pale white. She took a step backwards in disbelief.

"Annette, what is wrong?"

"I did not... Monsieur, how could you think of doing such a thing? You are such a fine, noble gentleman, and I - I am nothing."

"Nothing," he repeated with amazement. "How could you possibly say that? Do you really not know that you are everything to me? Everything in the world. Oh Annette, if you only knew..." he sighed and looked at the sea. "I was the one that was nothing, not you. I had no loves in the entire world. No one loved me in my entire life. And then by some miracle the angels sent me you. Right when I was ready to give up my life I discovered I wanted it. Because I want to spend it with you."

"But - but Monsieur, you are a gentleman. A fine man, you have a world in London, friends, would they accept a simple seamstress as your wife?"

"I do not have many friends, Annette. Very few. And the ones that I do have will either welcome you as my wife or they will not remain my friends."

One friend worried her. "But, in London, SHE is there."

Sydney sighed. She had read his mind. He paused. "Yes, she is there."

"The one you were going to die for."

"Not just for her. It was for her and for her daughter and for her husband."

"But it was she you loved," she observed.

Sydney sighed deeply. "Yes, Annette, I loved her. But she never loved me." Annette was amazed. How could anyone not love him? He was so handsome and strong and kind. She did not understand why he nearly died alone. It did not make sense to her.

He looked at the water as he thought over his past. He seemed to be in some sort of reverie, which she was not a party to. Finally he turned back and smiled at her. "Do you not love me, little Annette?"

"Not love you?" she knew her face betrayed her complete mortification at the thought. "Heavens, how could you think such a thing? I love you so dreadfully, with so much of my heart that it hurts. Of course I love you. I've loved you from the very beginning. The first moment we met." The words were out before she could stop them, and her natural timidity took over as soon as she was done. She turned away in embarrassment.

Sydney smiled and stepped towards her. He laid his hands on her shoulders and she breathed a little easier. There was that comforting embrace that had gotten her through the past two days of uncertainty and danger. She placed a hand upon his as she tried to come up with the courage to face him again.

"Annette, I don't think you realize how special you are," he said. "You are the first person I have met in all my miserable life that has ever said that you love me. Nobody has ever said that to me before."

"I don't believe that," she said, wiping a tear away, still unable to face him. Why was she crying? She wasn't unhappy, was she? Just terribly, terribly embarrassed. And yes, unhappy… because how could she marry a man such as him? He was worlds away from her.

"I will only ever tell you the truth," he vowed, and gently pulled her around to face him. She kept her eyes low and he lifted her chin with his hands. She slowly met his eyes. "There now," he said with an encouraging smile. "I have only loved one other woman in my life, and she refused me because she didn't love me. Will you say no now too, even though you do love me?"

Annette tried to be sensible. She knew life as Sydney's wife would be very different from the life she had led before. And she knew that there would be many challenges ahead for both of them if she accepted. He was an accomplished and educated gentleman, she was just a simple seamstress. Yet when she opened her mouth to explain these things, she found she had no voice.

Sydney took the opportunity and kissed her – there on the deck, with the sailors rushing past them and the wind causing the waves to crash almost upon them. Despite the turbulence, Annette felt her heart stop. This was just as sweet as that moment the other day when they thought they were saying goodbye forever.

_He truly loves me_, she thought. _Why am I being such a little fool and hesitating? If he had asked me to marry him a day ago, on the scaffold, there in front of half of Paris, I certainly would have said yes. Why is this different?_

_Because_, the reasonable part of her mind snapped, _back then there was no future. Now there is one. Am I absolutely certain that this can work? Married to an Englishman in a country I've never even seen? _

_Yes_, she thought as Sydney held her in his arms, _yes, this can work. We can make it work_.

"Yes," she said aloud. "Yes, I will marry you."


	6. Word Spreads

At home in England, Lucie Darnay was arranging some flowers and thinking again about Sydney Carton. She had found herself doing that more and more since their return, and she felt it was right that she should do so. He had sacrificed himself to save her husband – and he'd done it for her, she knew.

Poor Sydney, she thought. He had promised that he would do anything for her or anyone she loved. Anything. And he had meant it. She had never dreamed that he would actually do it though. Such a purely selfless act… she was amazed. _Wherever you are, Sydney_, she thought, _know that you are missed. Know that I will_ _always remember what you did and how much you loved me. Know that... _she wasn't sure how to finish that thought. What was it she wanted him to know? _Just know that I'm thinking of you. _

That didn't sound like nearly enough though. When she had recognized Charles in the carriage, the whole plan became clear to her. She pushed away the tears that crept into her eyes and always threatened when she started to think over this. She didn't want anyone to see her weeping.

Since their return, she and Charles had said very little about Sydney. It was something unspoken between them. They both knew what he had done, they both mourned him deeply, yet they could not discuss it. Someday they would go over the entire story… perhaps write it down so little Lucie and all her children could know what a great man had once been in their lives… but not now. Now it was too soon.

Having finished one bouquet of roses she started on another, and tried to turn her thoughts to pleasanter subjects. Little Lucie was growing a mile a minute and would soon start asking questions that would be difficult to answer. Lucie smiled to herself as she thought over her daughter and then busied herself as she brought a vase into the parlor where her father and Mr. Lorry were sitting.

"Do you need help, my dear?" her father asked.

"Of course not, Pappa," she answered happily. "I am happy to do this. Anything interesting in the newspaper, Mr. Lorry?" she asked his friend.

"Nothing much out of the ordinary," Jarvis replied, turning the page. "More atrocities in France, of course. I pray we may all stay out of that wretched country for the foreseeable future."

"Have no fear on that score, my friend," said Dr. Manette. "I can assure you that no one in my family has any intention of returning to France – ever again."

"I just pray that the bank has no further need of my services in that direction - at least for some time yet."

"Do you really think you would go back there?" her father asked in surprise.

"Perhaps - but not for a long, long time. Things will settle down there eventually. Of course," he said with a chuckle, "I will probably be retired by the time that happens."

Lucie left the room to collect the other bouquet of roses and by the time she returned with the second vase the men were talking of something completely different.

Suddenly Mr. Lorry's eye caught an item in the newspaper. "Good Lord, Carton has been saved!" he exclaimed.

"WHAT?" Lucie dropped the vase she had been carrying and roses fell everywhere.

"Yes, it is right here in the Times," he said. He held up the paper and read aloud, "Sydney Carton, barrister, is one of the newest arrivals from the latest rescue operation in France. Also arrived are the Marquis of Pembrook and the Countess de Chegney."

"Sydney, alive?" Lucie felt the air go out of her lungs. She stumbled to a chair. How could this be? She could not process it.

"Lucie, are you quite well?" Jarvis stood up and caught her arms in his as he helped her reach the chair.

"I – I do not understand…" she murmured. "Sydney is alive? He has survived?"

"Yes, according to this report he is alive and well. Thanks to the efforts of the Pimpernel he is safely delivered from that fate that awaits far too many innocent people."

"Lucie? Dearest Lucie, take it easy," her father said, fetching a glass of water.

"I cannot think…" she tried to accept the glass her father offered her.

"Charles? Where is Charles?" Jarvis Lorry asked.

"He's in the library, I believe," Dr. Manette replied. "Fetch him, please." Jarvis nodded and left.

* * *

Charles was in the middle of a book, and a million miles away when Jarvis Lorry came in. "Charles, you must come with me, right away," he insisted. Charles looked up in confusion. "It's your wife, she's nearly fainted. Come, sir!"

Without a word of question Charles dropped his book and ran to the parlor. Once there, he found a shattered vase and Lucie gasping for breath. "Lucie? My God, what in the world has happened?" he knelt before her.

"S-S-Sydney. It's Sydney Carton," she stuttered.

He stared in confusion. "What of him?" he asked.

"He has been rescued," Dr. Manette explained. "It was in the paper. I'm afraid the news has quite shocked Lucie."

Charles stared in disbelief. "Sydney Carton is alive?" he said in amazement.

"Yes, it appears that he was among the people saved in the most recent rescue operation. According to the paper he arrived in London…" Jarvis picked the paper back up, "this very week," he finished.

Charles had no idea what to make of the news. He was possibly even more stunned than Lucie, but he took a step back and collected himself. "This is indeed the most fortunate news," he declared. Lucie stared at him, her eyes widened. "I cannot think of a man more deserving of deliverance than Sydney Carton."


	7. Nighttime

For Annette, the events of the last few days swam through her head as she tried to sleep. Sydney slept peacefully beside her as she replayed the last week in her mind. How strange it seemed, barely one week ago she was imprisoned at La Force, and condemned to death. She awaited her own execution and had thought her life completely over… yet here she was, quite alive, in a new country, and married to a man she adored.

She thought over the events that had taken her to this point. Following Sydney's proposal the journey to England had been a short one, as the winds were favorable, and they had arrived at Dover early in the afternoon following.

Just as they approached the docks the Pimpernel's men had appeared and rounded up the refugees. Sydney and Annette came down from the poop deck, arm in arm, happily planning their future as they heard the beginning of the address.

"Friends, we are nearly arrived in England. There will be carriages to take you to London tomorrow morning," said one of their guides.

"What are we to do until then?" asked the baker as the news was passed to them.

"There is an inn just off the main road – and the owners are friends of the League. You may all stay one night there as guests before you depart," he answered.

"In the meantime, citizens, I wish to invite you all to join us," Sydney said to his fellow travelers, almost interrupting the sailor's address. "This young lady," he said, placing an arm around Annette, "has just consented to be my wife, and we mean to marry this very day, if possible. You are all very welcome."

Annette had been embarrassed by Sydney's announcement, but that had quickly changed to contentment as the applause erupted amongst their fellow travelers.

* * *

Somehow it had all worked. The ship had gone to anchor at the harbor at Dover and through some miracle Sydney had arranged for them to be married at the Anglican church in town. Annette's English was somewhat wanting, but that didn't seem to be any hindrance at all – nor was her faith. Despite her Catholic father, her mother had been Protestant and had raised her likewise. The priest in the Anglican church spoke enough French to assure her that the marriage ceremony was everything she would wish. Within hours of their meeting, the baker – whom she now knew to be named Luc Marsault – walked her down the aisle, as the other refugees and a few of the ship's sailors watched from the pews.

The wedding itself was perfect. Annette had of course wished her young cousin could have been there – it was the one regret she had on that day – but she knew it was best not to dwell upon the misfortunes of the past. Sydney had taken her hand before God and promised to love and be true to her for the rest of their lives, and she eagerly did the same for him. She was so deliriously happy that she could not rightly remember the rest of the afternoon… it came back in bits and pieces.

Annette stopped her reminiscing and turned to her sleeping husband. She had never shared a bed with a man before, yet his sleep seemed more peaceful than any she had known. When he loved her it was with his whole body and soul, but when he slept… oh, how she loved to watch him sleep! His rest was something she envied. She still had troubling dreams of the prison and her own looming death, but not Sydney. Sydney slept so soundly and peacefully – it seemed nothing could awaken him or upset him or even remotely disturb him. He was at peace with everything.

She turned over and thought over their wedding night. How nervous and shy she had been, and he had treated her with the utmost tenderness. He put her comfort and well-being above his own wishes that night. She had always been nervous of the act of love, but her new husband had been nothing but kind and gentle. It had hurt – oh to be sure, it had hurt – and when she had awoken in the morning to find the sheets stained with blood she thought she may die of embarrassment. Sydney laughed and assured her that there was nothing unusual about it. Even so, she had hid her eyes from the innkeepers and the maids as they had departed.

Annette smiled to herself in the darkness. That had been four days ago. Since their arrival in London things had somewhat settled down. They were now staying at a hotel in Bloomsbury, since Sydney had flat-out refused to take his bride back to his old lodgings. She suspected there would be more to the story, and Sydney himself had requested that she not think of him too highly, as he insisted that he had not led the most responsible of lives prior to his incarceration. Annette truly did not care. Whatever Sydney had done or not done in the past, it did not worry her. She loved him more than she had ever loved anyone. She turned over again and snuggled close to him as she allowed herself to drift into a deep sleep.


	8. The Invitation

The invitation arrived within a day of their reading the story in the newspaper.

And what an invitation it was: a royal reception, hosted by the Prince of Wales himself. And Mr. and Mrs. Charles Darnay were expected to attend.

The reception was to be hosted at Carlton House, where most of the rescued refugees would be formally accepted into English society. The Prince of Wales would be there, of course, to give his formal blessing to the refugees, along with most of London society.

The invitation made Lucie a little uncomfortable… she had never been invited to Carlton House before and was quite stunned to be asked to such a formal party… she, Mrs. Charles Darnay to be received at Carlton House – it was so surreal. Yet the reason behind the invitation was clear.

Sydney. It had to be Sydney.

The thought of Sydney Carton at Carlton House was a rather extraordinary one too, but she pushed that skeptical thought from her mind.

Sydney had been saved, and his rescue, along with his fellow travelers were behind the celebration. Certainly the reception was not for him personally - nobody knew how noble he had been. Nobody could appreciate just how unselfish and true he had proven himself but her. She alone knew his worth. She carried it in her heart.

Oh Charles knew too – but he had said very little about Sydney to her since their return. She thought he might be rather humbled to be the beneficiary of such a noble sacrifice. He kept his thoughts of Sydney to himself. He hadn't volunteered them and she hadn't asked.

But this reception; it was for the French aristocracy that had been saved along with Sydney Carton – but still, it must have been him that was behind this invitation. He clearly wanted to see her and Charles.

Her heart felt excited and uncertain. She was delighted at the thought of seeing Sydney – a man she had thought she would never see again – a man who had been willing to die for her happiness… and yet… yet she could not help but feel anxious and uncertain about this meeting. Certainly Sydney had never meant for them to ever lay eyes on each other again when he had sent Charles and that message to her. He had thought he was about to die, and he had wanted his final thoughts to be with her. And she had treasured those words and those sentiments in her very soul.

But he was alive. He was alive and he wanted to see her.

How had he lived? What had his story been? And what must his thoughts be now that he had survived, and he anticipated her presence? What would they say to each other? How could she ever thank him – explain what he meant to her – explain how she had thought of him so often…

Charles had said very little since the announcement came. He had insisted his pleasure at Sydney's deliverance, and of course he was the most sincere person she knew… but still… this was a terribly awkward and still wonderful reunion that was about to take place.

Lucie both dreaded the moment and longed for it as the night approached.

Before either of them were really ready for it, the time arrived, and Charles and Lucie made their departure for the reception. They did not speak of what was about to transpire, both of them were lost in their own thoughts.

As the coach neared the estate, Lucie felt much the same as she had several years prior; when she was summoned to meet another man she had also thought dead – her father.

She seemed to relive her feelings as the carriage neared the house. There was excitement, but also nervousness. For the second time in her life, she was about to meet a man she had thought dead, and for the second time in her life, she had no idea how to react.


	9. Reunion

They were met at Carlton House by several servants, and Lucie's nerves were somewhat taken aback by the grandeur that greeted her and Charles as they were ushered into the receiving rooms. Neither of them were quite accustomed to this type of formal reception, at least Lucie was not – however she suspected this was exactly the world Charles had tried to distance himself from in France. Still this was England, not France, and being in the English aristocracy was no crime at all. They did their best to appear at ease, when the truth was they were anything but.

As they entered the rooms they were met with a score of people. Before she was aware of it Charles was separated from her and she was greeted by hundreds of women who all acted as though they'd known her for years. Everyone seemed warm and friendly. Despite what she had heard of the French aristocracy, they all seemed extremely warm and welcoming to her. This was their party, after all. Despite it being at the home of the Prince of Wales, many of the women that surrounded her were French, and if they did not recognize her, they recognized the name of St Evremonde.

Still, Lucie could not quite relax. She wanted to see her friend. Her friend that she had thought was lost to her forever. She wanted to see him more than anything.

"May I help you, Madame St. Evremonde?" a woman she did not recognize addressed her.

"I…" she blushed to admit what she was about to say… "I was just wondering if Mister Sydney Carton was here. I understand he was among the latest rescued," she said, a little embarrassedly.

"Oh Carton!" the woman laughed at the name. Lucie was quite surprised at the reaction. "Of course he is here. And Annette." Lucie had no idea whom she was referring to, but it made no difference. The woman took her hand and led her into a grand chamber where even more people were in attendance. "Ah, there he is!" her companion declared as she led her towards a small group of people in a corner.

Within a moment the woman was gone and Lucie was left to encounter the group alone. She was not sure what to say, yet her heart was pounding so hard she felt it about to leap out of her chest… She did not need to speak. All too soon she saw a familiar form turn around and start walking towards her. She thought she may faint, and clutched onto her smelling salts just in case as he neared her.

Sydney Carton.

There was no mistaking him. There he stood before her, just as handsome as her own beloved Charles, and every bit as alive. But something was altered about him. She couldn't quite place it. He looked somehow different.

"Lucie Darnay," he said as his face lit up. "I am so very, very happy to see you," he went straight towards her and kissed her on the cheek.

Within a moment all of her tender thoughts towards him came flooding over her. She thought over his intended sacrifice, and all the times she had spoken to him since she had thought him dead – well, prayed for him – well, thought of him since then. All the times she would have given anything to just see him one last time… And here he stood!

Overcome with emotion, Lucie could not stop herself from wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him close. Yes, she knew it was improper, yes she knew many eyes must be upon them, but she did not care. She had thought she would never see his face again – she had thought she'd live the rest of her life unable to thank him for what he had done, and unable to tell him what he had meant to her… she clung tightly to him.

For his part Sydney accepted the embrace warmly. He stroked her hair for a moment before he gently parted from her.

"Sydney, I – I don't know where to begin," Lucie stammered. "I received your message," she began stupidly, unsure how to say all that she wanted to.

"Do not distress yourself, Lucie. I am well. And I am so glad to see you," he said warmly. Lucie frowned a little, as he seemed somehow more distant than she remembered. "It has all worked out as it was meant to," he finished. She wasn't sure what he meant.

"Sydney… what you did – well, what you tried to do – I could never thank you enough. You saved Charles. You saved my husband, and you…" she couldn't put it into words. She was so overcome with emotion, but Sydney seemed to be completely in control.

"Lucie, please. There is no need for this."

"Of course there is a need," she persisted. "I just wish I knew how to say what I feel. I am so happy to see you. So deliriously happy…" she started to trail off and Sydney just smiled warmly in response.

"I am actually not alone, Lucie." She looked at him in confusion. "There's another arrival from France I would dearly love for you to meet," he said, looking over his shoulder. "Annette? Annette, come here my darling." Lucie's eyes widened as a pretty young girl came to his side. She was about twenty years old, with dark curly hair and striking eyes. Lucie wondered who in the world this could possibly be, and why Sydney was interrupting their reunion for this introduction.

"Annette, I would like to introduce you to Mrs. Lucie Darnay." The girl's eyes flashed a quick understanding. She clearly knew the entire story, and Lucie felt herself at a distinct disadvantage as she had absolutely no idea who this young woman was. "Lucie, this is Madame Annette Carton," he paused, "my wife."


	10. Introductions

Lucie took a step backwards and tried to maintain her composure. It wasn't easy, this was the second time she had been stunned into speechlessness in the past two days. But the young woman appeared completely unfazed by the introduction. Instead, she smiled warmly and took Lucie by the hand. "I am so very happy to meet you," she said, "I truly hope we shall become good friends."

Lucie looked at the young woman, then at Sydney, then back at the young woman.

"I – Likewise," she stammered, more out of confusion than anything else. The girl smiled again. Lucie looked at Sydney, hoping for some sort of clue as to what to think, but Sydney simply smiled at his bride. Lucie stared at them both for a moment, before she realized she should say something more. "I apologize," she said with a curtsey, "I am just extremely surprised."

"Of course," the young woman responded. "We are married only four days, it is quite understandable." She looked at Lucie and did not wait for a further invitation, but came forward and kissed her on the cheek. "I am certain we shall always be dear to each other," Annette declared.

Lucie continued to stare in amazement. It did not faze Annette.

"I do hope you will excuse me, but I should very much like to speak with your husband, the Marquis St. Ev-" she stopped herself. "Pardonnes moi," she excused herself. "I meant Mister Darnay, of course." She looked at Sydney who looked at her with a smile of approval. Lucie guessed they must have discussed this between themselves prior.

"You wish to see Charles?" Lucie asked. She knew her utter bewilderment was showing and she was slightly embarrassed at being so confused.

"Oui," the young woman answered. "I am very anxious to see him again. When we met at la Force he was very kind to me."

"You were in la Force?" Lucie asked in amazement. This young woman was so young, so full of life, and so pretty – it seemed almost beyond comprehension that she could have been imprisoned just as Charles and Sydney had been. And yet…

"Sydney can explain that," Annette said with a curtsey. "Excuse me," she said as she left to find Charles. Lucie stared after her in amazement.

"Annette was set to be executed with me," Sydney explained, coming up to Lucie's side. "We were rescued together.

"Mr. Carton," she paused – it seemed ridiculous to call him that after everything. "Sydney," she corrected herself. He nodded. "I don't quite understand…you - you married?"

"Indeed. To the most adorable girl in the world," he looked after her proudly.

"She is indeed very lovely," Lucie said honestly. The young woman seemed beautiful and bright, and Sydney clearly adored her. "But is this not rather sudden?" Lucie could not quite comprehend what had happened. Sydney Carton not only alive, but married... and married to such a sweet, happy little thing. She did not understand it. She remembered Sydney's intended sacrifice for her and for Charles and for little Lucie... and yet that all seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind now. It made no sense to her. She struggled to understand just what had happened, and how it had happened so quickly.

"Perhaps," Sydney replied, "but what can I say? I finally met the one girl who I knew would love me until the end of the world... is it any wonder I wanted to make her my wife as quickly as possible?"

Lucie felt a pang at that.

"But – how did this happen? I'm sorry, Sydney, but I just never thought…"

"You never thought you'd ever see Sydney Carton the married man?" he suggested. Lucie didn't respond. "Well, to be perfectly honest, I never expected it either. But it did happen. And as I said, it all happened just as it was meant to." Lucie watched him in amazement. He seemed so different from the man she remembered. It was as if his entire outlook on life had changed completely.

She had always suspected that Sydney could live a much better life than he had... and if she was completely honest with herself she was a little jealous to see that although her prediction had proved right, she had not been the one to make it happen. It was this young French girl - this Annette - who had done it.

"I am very happy for you," she said. "Truly."

"Thank you," he answered, with a look of true appreciation and love on his face. Yes, she understood, he did still love her. That had not changed. But she was no longer the object of his affections now. That role had been taken by someone else. She was not quite sure how she felt about that.


	11. Just a moment

Annette took a moment to excuse herself to the powder room. She needed a few moments to collect herself and reflect upon the evening before she sought out St. Evremonde.

Alone in the rooms she touched up her hair and inspected her dress for signs of creases. No, despite the long party, her dress had held its lines perfectly. She was rather proud, as she had spent the last four days sewing it.

Sydney had wanted her to buy a new gown, of course, once they had found out they were to attend a party at Carlton House, yet she had insisted on sewing her own dress. She had done this for a few reasons: economics being the first (she was, after all, a working girl who did not believe it right to spend money when it was not necessary), a wish to impress Sydney with her sewing skills was the second reason, and the third… as strange as it sounded… she just wanted to feel normal again. Sewing a gown for a formal occasion was something she would have done back in Paris, and she felt good to have a familiar project before her in the days leading to the reception.

It had been a success, and Sydney had been quite impressed with the result. She had sewn a periwinkle blue gown that complimented her eyes, and fit in well with the fashions the other women were wearing. She knew this was a very important night for Sydney… he was to be reunited with the Darnays, and she knew how much this meant for him.

Annette had been quite eager to meet Lucie Darnay, and the lady was everything she had expected. She was indeed quite lovely, as Sydney had told her she would be, and beyond that she had an inner calmness and peace that made her appear even more beautiful. Annette could not help but like her.

She knew Lucie must feel shocked by the news that Sydney had married anyone… let alone an uneducated working girl… yet Annette was quite prepared and understanding of that. Sydney had loved Lucie – so much that he was willing to die for her… yet Annette felt no threats or jealousy. She knew beyond any doubts that Sydney was utterly devoted to her and her alone. She had no reason to be concerned.

Even so, she could see that Madame Darnay was quite taken aback at their introduction. Lucie Darnay could barely speak she had been so shocked. Annette did not let it faze her, she simply embraced the woman as if she were a dear friend. After all, she reasoned, if it were not for Lucie, Sydney would never have been imprisoned, and they never would have met. As odd as it was, it did seem as though Annette owed her happiness to Lucie and Charles Darnay.

Annette finished tidying herself and returned to the ballroom, where she easily located St Evremonde – Darnay. She had met him before in la Force and was eager to speak with him again. He was speaking to a couple gentlemen, but she had no qualms about approaching him directly.

"Mister Darnay, I have wanted to speak to you," she began. He turned in surprise, and then his face warmed into a friendly smile.

"I am at your service," he said with a bow. Annette could tell right away that he did not recognize her.

"We met at la Force. You were very kind to me," she said.

"I apologize, Mademoiselle," he responded. "I'm afraid… I…" he trailed off and looked at her closely. "Wait," he said slowly. "Yes – yes, I do remember. You were the little seamstress," he remembered.

"Yes!" she answered. "I am so glad to see you. You were very kind to me. In fact, it was your kindness that led me to Sydney."

"Sydney," he repeated in confusion. "Sydney Carton?"

"Oh, of course, you wouldn't know," she smiled. "Sydney and I married earlier this week."

Charles stared at her in amazement.

"Sydney Carton? And you? You are married?"

"Yes," she said with a smile. "Your wife was equally surprised."

"I beg your pardon," he said. "I hope I was not rude. I am just – I had thought Sydney was dead. Finding out that he is alive and married takes a moment to get used to."

"I understand," she said warmly. As was the case with Lucie, Annette did not wait for the shock to wear off, she just embraced Charles as a dear friend. "I am so very glad to see you again," she said, kissing his cheek. "I am certain we shall always be dear to each other."


	12. The Ride Home

The carriage rolled away from the party and for half the trip neither Charles nor Lucie spoke. They were both lost in their thoughts as they listened to the sound of the horse's hooves on the wet pavement.

Finally, Charles broke the silence. "I never would have pictured Sydney Carton…" he trailed off. Lucie looked at him and he continued, albeit distractedly, "I barely recognized him, he is so altered."

"Did you think so?" Lucie asked in surprise. "To me he seemed very much the same," she said with a soft smile as she thought over their meeting.

"The same?" Charles repeated in amazement. "Lucie, he was dressed royally and not a hair out of place! Is that the man you remember?" There was a hint of agitation in his voice but Lucie didn't appear to notice. Instead she looked out the windows at the raindrops thoughtfully.

"Despite the clothes, he's the same Sydney Carton," she said. "With one important change," she sighed deeply. "He is happy." She tried to think of a time when she remembered seeing Sydney so content, but nothing came immediately to mind.

"He did look happy," Charles agreed. "And of course, he has every right to be, having been rescued so dramatically… Did he tell you?"

"No," Lucie answered quietly. "He actually said very little to me."

"Oh," Charles was surprised to hear that, but decided to let it pass. "I actually got the story from one of the other refugees. You know the Pimpernel had them hidden in coffins?"

"How horrible!" Lucie shuddered at the thought. Charles realized he probably shouldn't have mentioned that.

"It worked though," he pointed out.

A moment or two passed before Lucie spoke again. "Despite all the danger and the things he went through…" she began slowly as she looked out the window.

"…Yes?" Charles prompted.

"I never would have thought he would rush into a marriage."

Ah, Charles thought, that was on her mind. He had wondered how long it would take for one of them to mention it. "I did not see that coming," he said.

"She said she remembered you. You were in la Force together?"

"I do remember her. I didn't at first, but I do now. She was a meek little thing. Petrified of her own shadow. Not the type I would have expected Carton to fall for at all… let alone…"

"Marry?" Lucie concluded for him. He nodded.

"She is a sweet little thing. And very pretty. I didn't recognize her at first because she seems to have aged since la Force. Back then she was just a scared child. Now…" he didn't finish his sentence. After a pause he added, "Even so, I just cannot believe that Carton would do something so rash."

Rash? Lucie thought to herself. Yes, the word was appropriate. It was rash of Carton to marry a girl he had just met... and yet... and yet there seemed to be a logic to it. One she could not quite explain, even to herself.

They fell back into silence, still thinking over the events of the past few hours.

Lucie contemplated the young woman in silent reverie. She was indeed very young, but she had a look of intelligence about her, and Lucie suspected that she had seen quite a bit of life within her few years.

But Sydney had married her. Sydney Carton – her Sydney Carton – had married. And he seemed happier than Lucie could ever remember. That brooding air of his was almost completely gone, and he looked – what was the word she wanted? – peaceful. Yes, he appeared peaceful. It was a look that was completely foreign to her, she had never seen a man she knew so well appear so content. She had always suspected that he could be a happier person, but to actually see it was astonishing.

Finally Charles spoke again. "Shall you call on them, once they are settled?"

"I don't know," Lucie answered honestly. "It's strange. Sydney seemed truly happy to see us, and yet… and yet I feel I ought to keep a distance."

"Why do you say that? His little bride couldn't have been friendlier."

"I can't explain it," Lucie answered. She didn't like keeping secrets from Charles, but something about this young girl's marriage to Sydney Carton made Lucie feel extremely uncomfortable. She felt awkward and no longer in control. She felt she needed time to collect herself before they were reunited again.


	13. A New Household

Author's Note:So sorry this has taken me so long to update. New job and so on... anyways, this isn't a full chapter, kind of a half-chapter leading up to what I've been working on. Hope you like it :)

* * *

"So that is Lucie Evremonde," Annette commented as the Darnays left the party.

"Yes, that's her," Sydney said, handing her a glass of wine. "Was she what you expected?"

"She is lovely," Annette answered honestly. Sydney smiled in agreement. "And very ladylike – of course I would have expected that from her husband… Yes," she said thoughtfully as she sipped the wine, "she is exactly as I imagined her to be."

"She did seem rather shocked by our marriage," Sydney observed, sipping his own glass.

"I am not surprised. Sydney, nobody expected you to be alive, let alone to have returned with a French wife." She shook her head – sometimes it seemed almost comical to her how Sydney could be so intelligent in some ways, and yet some natural social reactions completely puzzled him.

He sipped his wine quickly, and then refilled his glass. "Thirsty?" she asked.

"Oh!" he looked at his glass somewhat guiltily. "Bad habit of mine," he acknowledged. "Seeing Charles and Lucie again had me… I don't know, reminiscent."

Annette regarded the glass with a little skepticism. Sydney had warned her that he was far from perfect – he had his vices. But she had wondered before if there was a problem with alcohol in his past. "Let's go home," she whispered in his ear. He promptly put down the glass and after excusing themselves from their hosts, returned to their lodgings.

* * *

Time went by and Sydney and Annette took up residence in a small cottage in Bloomsbury. Sydney was able to commute to the courts easily, and Annette occupied herself at first with setting up a household. However, she soon found herself frustrated with simple household chores, and that combined with her limited English and her illiteracy made her feel extremely insecure.

Although Sydney had promised to teach her to read and write, he soon found himself preoccupied with work and was unable to devote much time to their evening studies. At first Annette had kept busy with the running of the household, but she soon found herself frustrated with the task – as she knew they were living in a house that they could not really afford and Sydney was working all the time to pay for it.

Annette's first impulse was to take in sewing. She was used to working for a living, in fact it brought her a sense of peace and familiarity to take a needle to a piece of fabric. However, Sydney was dead-set against it. If she chose to sew curtains for the dining room or pillows for the drawing room, he was very supportive… if she chose to sew a gown for herself he did not argue… but he absolutely refused to let her seek out work publically. His wife, he insisted, would not support herself. She was his responsibility. He insisted.

Annette remembered this exchange well… it was the first real fight the two of them ever had.


	14. An Argument

_AN: I apologize for my long silence. I moved and then got distracted... but I hadn't forgotten this! Didn't mean to let it take so long between updates! Short chapter today, but there will be more coming. I promise!_

* * *

Annette did not wish to cross Sydney, but she did hate always having to go to him for money, especially for very trivial things, such as stuffing for cushions and buttons for pillow cases. So she began to make some inquiries about town for commissioned work. Still being mostly illiterate she had to work mostly by word-of-mouth, but she found, to her relief, that there was a great demand for accomplished seamstresses, and being French actually worked to her advantage; Annette discovered with some amusement that the ladies of London found it somewhat exotic.

And so she began to take in commissioned sewing jobs. At first Annette attempted to keep this a secret from her husband… some supplemental income to support the expenses he would never think of… but he soon found out.

About a month after she had started taking in the work, Sydney returned home from work unexpectedly.

"Annette!" he growled as he entered the house.

"Sydney, you're home early," she said, attempting to be cheerful, but knowing quite well that she was in trouble.

"Annette, I was dining at the local pub and the proprietor actually gave me a message for you. He said that he wished for the sashes on the new curtains to be solid green, instead of striped." Sydney delivered the message, his temper about to boil over.

"Well, he shouldn't have done that. I told him time and time again that if he had any changes to make he should contact me directly…" she stalled.

"What the devil do you think you are doing?" he demanded.

"Just as it appears," she said, squaring her shoulders. "I'm taking in odd sewing jobs to supplement our income."

"Under who's authority?"

"I'm – I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," she said, turning away.

"Stop it at once!" he ordered.

"I will do no such thing," she replied. "I have people waiting for pieces from me. Some of them have already paid in advance. It wouldn't be honest to stop working for them."

"You will inform them that you are unable to carry out your commission, and we will return the money."

"Why?"

"I don't want to hear another word about it. You are no longer a seamstress, you are my wife and I will not have you support yourself."

"I have always supported myself and what harm does it do to let me work?"

"My wife does not work for a living. It is your responsibility to run the household."

"I've never run a household before. It is not what I know. And sewing gives me enjoyment. You're just letting your pride stop you." The words were out before she could stop them, but she instantly regretted them.

"It is not pride; it is doing what is proper."

"Sydney, can we really afford this house on just your salary?"

Sydney's eyes narrowed and he didn't respond. Instead he turned and walked out of the house. Annette stared after him in amazement, then quickly followed. She had thought he would be in the garden, but as soon as she came outside she saw him leave the property and head down the street.


	15. The Pub

Annette went back into the cottage and sat down, quite cross for a moment. What right had Sydney to order her about? He was her husband, but she was NOT under his command. He was being pig-headed and stubborn. She folded her arms in a huff.

That stubborn, prideful man. Whoever did he think he was to order her not to work? She had always worked and she saw nothing shameful in what she had done.

Alright… she admitted to herself, she shouldn't have kept it secret. That was what had really set him off. But she knew beyond any doubt that he would never have agreed to it. He was being stupidly prideful and saw it as an attack on his newly-found respectability to have his wife working for herself. Even she could understand that.

But why did he have to… well, _faire l'imbécile?_

She couldn't help but smile a little. That was her Sydney. Strong and passionate.

Well, there was no use sitting alone in the house, she decided. If there was one lesson Sydney Carton had taught her it was to have confidence in herself. She took a shawl off the hook, put a hat upon her head, and went out to look for him.

* * *

Sydney hadn't gone far. In fact, he made it just as far as the nearest public house and ordered a pint. He knew he shouldn't have stormed at Annette, but – dammit, did she have to keep secrets from him? They'd damned near lost their heads together, one would imagine they wouldn't need to lie.

That was what infuriated him. More so than her disobedience.

Disobedience… he repeated the word to himself as he took a drink. Who did he think he was? The king himself? Even the King of France hadn't had obedience from his own people… He took another swig of ale. He was starting to get mad at himself and he didn't like it.

"Miss, you cannot, enter here," he heard the proprietor say. "No unaccompanied young ladies are allowed here." Sydney looked over his shoulder and saw, to his amazement, that his own wife was standing at the door. She had come looking for him.

"_Pardonne moi_," she began. Sydney's heart melted to see her try and explain herself in her broken English. "I am looking for my husband."

"No unaccompanied ladies are allowed here," the man repeated, in an even sterner voice.

"But… if you could just tell me if you have seen him," she implored, her eyes big. "His name –"

"Miss, you will have to leave," the man insisted. He started to usher her out when Sydney heard his own voice call out.

"The lady is with me!" he announced very loudly. More than a couple heads turned at the loud declaration. Sydney stood up and walked proudly towards them. Annette's eyes lit up and the proprietor slowly slinked back. "You wouldn't turn away the wife of a patron, would you?" he asked.

"No sir," the man shook his head. "Excuse me, sir. Madame." He went away.

Annette stood there beaming at Sydney. Sydney bowed and led her to his table. "I'm not pleased that you found me here," he confessed.

"I'm just glad I found you," she smiled.

"I can't believe that you came looking for me," he admitted with a bit of pride.

"I did not come to apologize," she said, fixing him with a confident stare.

"I did not expect you to," he answered. "I should not have gone off like that. I was just so angry… never mind," he said, pouring her a cup of ale.

"You seem to have calmed down considerably," Annette observed, accepting the cup.

"It's not worth being angry about," he decided. "At the end of the day, it's not worth it."

"What changed your mind?" she asked.

"Seeing you there," he nodded towards the door. "Looking for me. I was proud to say that you are with me. I'll always be proud to say that."

"Even though I sometimes work for myself?"

Sydney didn't answer right away. Then he finally smiled. "So be it."


	16. Enceinte

_Author's Note: I do apologize! I hadn't realized that it had been ELEVEN MONTHS since I last updated this! I certainly haven't abandoned it, just had a lot of stuff happen, and then a bit of writer's block… but I'm back! Short chapter today, but I didn't want to let this silence on my end go on any longer!_

* * *

In the short weeks that followed Sydney and Annette had settled into a more comfortable routine. Annette no longer hid the work she was taking in, and after a short while even Sydney realized that the supplemental income was useful (although he'd never admit it).

It was barely three weeks after that row that Annette woke up with a terrible nausea. She ran to the wash basin and promptly threw up everything in her stomach. After it was over she drank some water and washed her face. She then slowly sank down onto the floor. She looked over at the bed. Sydney, ever the sound sleeper, hadn't even woken up.

_Mon dieu_, she thought to herself. _It can't be_…

Slowly she thought over the events of the past month and counted silently the days… eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, FIFTEEN! She stood up and stared at herself in the looking-glass. Fifteen days late?

"Merde," she said without meaning to. She then instantly covered her mouth with her hands and was glad that Sydney wasn't awake to have heard that. _But – oh Lord, is this really happening?_ She shrunk back down to the floor and buried her head in her hands. _What would Sydney think?_ She wondered. They'd never really discussed this possibility. In her past, all she remembered were girls being thrown out of their positions if they had ended up in this condition…

No, she realized, with some calming sense of mind, Sydney would never do that to her. He had married her, after all. She had some security in her position.

She shook her head again. Sydney would be so mad at her if he knew she had had these thoughts! Hadn't he done everything possible to assure her that she was now in a proper position in a respectable household?

"Annette?" Sydney woke up only a minute later, realizing she wasn't next to him.

"I'm over here," she called, still seated on the floor.

Sydney sat up in bed, his eyes adjusting to the daylight. "What are you doing over there?" he asked, clearly confused.

"Nothing," she stood up and somehow found the courage to make her announcement. "I just think I may be…" she realized a second too late that she didn't know the English word.

"May be?" he repeated, obviously only slightly interested.

_Well, fine, if he's going to be impatient, then I suppose he deserves the shock_, she decided to herself. "Enceinte."

Sydney didn't recognize the word right away, and took a minute to translate in his head. He then looked at her in confusion. "You may be making incense?"

Annette was torn between groaning and laughing. "That's _encens_," she responded as patiently as she could. "I said _enceinte_."

"Oh please, Annette, I just woke up. In the name of all that's holy, what are you trying to tell me?" he rubbed his forehead.

Annette couldn't help it anymore, she just started laughing.

"Have it your own way," Sydney groaned and rose from bed. Annette watched in perfect amusement as he washed his face and started to dress. He clearly wasn't awake enough to have understood what she had told him, and she took a private delight in it.


End file.
